


Venery

by Mertiya



Category: Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm, Knifeplay, Let's just say vape duck is being vape duck shall we, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Raping one character to hurt another, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Self-Worth Issues, Size Kink, There is what reads as a vicious rape scene so be careful with that, Vape Duck is a Size Queen, i don't make the rules, uh sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: The Hunting Fox has his way with his quarry.  Probably.  Maybe.  Shang tries to help and does.  Maybe.  Probably.





	Venery

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FrostandSilence for being an enabler and Zomb, Kyros, Umbel, Teak and lontradiction for letting me shove excerpts at them out of context.

The Enigmatic Gale’s breath rushes in and out of his lungs, and his heartbeat is racing beneath Xiào Kuáng Juàn’s arm. The trace of fear in his quarry’s eyes is intoxicating, and he allows himself a moment to run a thumb over Lǐn Xuě Yā’s plush lower lip and to feel the hitch in breath and to watch the slight widening of the eyes beneath their half-hooded lids. “You claim you simply want the Sorcerous Sword Index,” he says meditatively, pressing down with his other elbow enough to cause the Enigmatic Gale’s breath to rasp, chest trying desperately to expand with nowhere to go, “but your conversation with Shāng Bù Huàn seemed comradely enough.”

“I don’t make it a habit to alienate people who are useful to me,” Lǐn chokes out from beneath the pressure of the Hunting Fox’s arm.

“That may indeed be the case.” Xiào shifts his weight, pressing his knee between Lǐn’s legs and getting a twitch and a gasp in response. Lǐn’s eyes widen again, and Xiào feels a pleased shiver as he watches the dawning realization in the other’s eyes. “However, I think it is still not unreasonable to state that he appears to view you in as much regard as I have seen that man display towards anyone. So I don’t believe he’ll want to see you hurt.” He presses the knee against the growing involuntary hardness between Lǐn’s legs. “Therefore, of course—” His other hand slides down and tightens around the Enigmatic Gale’s throat. “I’m going to hurt you,” he hisses.

He feels the minute tightening of his quarry’s limbs as Lǐn readies himself for an escape attempt, and it’s a simple matter to anticipate the desperate wriggle and attempted blow to his face—he catches Lǐn’s hand and twists it, _hard_ , not hard enough to break the bone, but hard enough to draw a pained cry from the other. “Wouldn’t you rather avoid a broken limb?” he croons.

The fear in those eyes is intoxicating. Xiào wants to see more of it. He twists one hand in Lǐn’s long hair and jerks his head roughly back, mouthing down that long, slender throat, feeling the trembling pulse beneath his lips. With his other hand, he fumbles out a thin, needle-like dagger and presses it to Lǐn’s throat. “I could kill you right here,” he breathes in the Enigmatic Gale’s ear, and he draws the dagger down, just hard enough to break the skin, the red blood forming tiny bubbles in its wake. Lǐn gasps and shudders beneath him, and he slides the dagger underneath Lǐn’s collar, and then wrenches it upwards, splitting the elaborate outfit down the center and letting the dagger rest against Lǐn’s stomach.

He cups Lǐn’s hand and pulls him in for a bloody kiss before slamming his head back against the bed. “I’m going to fuck you,” he says, with a smile, tracing his fingers over Lǐn’s trembling lips and bringing his blood-covered hand to his mouth to taste it. “You’re going to let me, and you’re going to beg me to come before I’m through with you.” He runs the line of the dagger along the Enigmatic Gale’s freed erection, and the man trembles again. Xiào discards the dagger to grasp Lǐn’s erection and twist a hand viciously around it, drawing out a sharp, pained gasp.

He’d do this without any form of lubricant, just to punish the thief a little more, but he’d rather have something to ease his own way, so he reaches out to snag a little bottle near the bed and cover his fingers with slick fluid. He doesn’t bother with a slow preparation, just shoves three fingers deep inside Lǐn, getting a choking cry in response. Lǐn’s eyes are tight shut, as if he can’t bear to see, his head snapped sideways on the pillow, and he’s shaking. Xiào scissors his fingers roughly, watching avidly at the way Lǐn cries out softly, the way his hand clutches desperately in Xiào’s robes for lack of anywhere else to get purchase, and the tears that are beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes.

When Xiào penetrates with something more substantial than his fingers, Lǐn cries out with a voice that sounds halfway between arousal and despair. Xiào pushes his thighs up and fucks him hard, watching in delight as the tears spill out faster. He shoves three fingers into Lǐn’s mouth and groans at the way Lǐn chokes and gasps, the way he controls the ragged breaths that make it into Lǐn’s lungs. Xiào snaps his hips forward, rough and brutal, the slapping noise of flesh on flesh sending sparking sensation through him from his groin to his sternum.

His cock is twitching, his rhythm starting to stutter. He removes the fingers from Lǐn’s mouth to hold his weight up better, penning Lǐn’s face in between his hands. Lǐn’s beautiful face is slick and shiny with tears and saliva, his silky hair disheveled, and the vicious blue-black marks of Xiào’s hands are clearly visible. “Please—” Lǐn stammers, new tears welling up. “Please—don’t—”

Xiào backhands him into the pillow, and the solid thud of his hand coupled with the breathy little noise Lǐn makes are enough to draw him over the edge with a guttural obscenity. He stays inside Lǐn after he regains his senses, tracing lazy circles over his stomach and watching delightedly as Lǐn trembles and twitches and makes abortive little desperate motions.

“Do you want to come?” the Hunting Fox asks his quarry, and Lǐn looks at him pleadingly, horror evident in his wide eyes. Xiào takes him in hand with a mockery of gentleness, stroking him so lightly he can barely feel the slick hot flesh beneath his palm. Lǐn’s eyes flutter shut, his bottom lip disappearing into his mouth, and a bead of blood welling out beneath his teeth. “Such a lovely little whore, Enigmatic Gale.”

A soft whimper is his only answer. Xiào pets his inner thighs, feeling the way the muscles ripple and strain, and listens to his breath jump and dance. “You do seem to be enjoying this, don’t you?”

“No,” whispers Lǐn. “No, I don’t—” Xiào closes his hand and twists it, and Lǐn’s hips jerk, a broken moan spilling out of his lips.

“Beg me,” Xiào says, amused. “Beg for it like the little whore you are.”

Lǐn squeezes his eyes shut, and the tears run down his cheeks, and Xiào moves his hand relentlessly gently, up and down, until Lǐn is thrusting up into his grasp. “Please,” he sobs. “ _Please_.”

“That’s better.” Xiào tightens his grip, tugging roughly, and Lǐn makes a noise that’s like nothing so much as a desperate squeal as his muscles seize and he spills himself over Xiào’s fist. “What a good boy,” Xiào tells him, and he smiles to himself at the emptiness that spreads through the Enigmatic Gale’s eyes.

~

Shāng Bù Huàn sighs, sitting down on a log in the forest. With Lang off hunting the Princess of Cruelty, with the Seven Blasphemous Deaths on the loose, and with the Enigmatic Gale swanning off to do who knew what on his most recent little endeavor with the Hunting Fox, Shāng needs a damn break. And then he looks up and sees Xiào Kuáng Juàn himself, and stumbling along behind him—

The Hunting Fox has Lǐn Xuě Yā by the wrist and is dragging him viciously forward. The Enigmatic Gale’s eyes are dazed and horrifyingly empty, nothing like the usual gleaming clever sparks Shāng is used to seeing; a dark bruise on his right cheekbone halos that eye. His intricate clothing, too, usually so impeccably arranged, is rumpled and torn, the exquisite silk sporting a tell tale stain down the front.

“What have you done?” Shāng demands, unable to form any other words.

The Hunting Fox laughs, dark and unpleasant, and flings Lǐn to the ground in front of him. He lands on hands and knees and simply stares At the ground before him. “Take him,” says Xiào. “I’ve had my fill of him. I’ll be back for both of you in due course.”

Shāng’s hands squeeze at his sword hilt as if it’s Xiào’s throat. He’d like nothing more than to slice the Hunting Fox in half where he stands, but he knows the man would never show himself like this if he were truly vulnerable, and poor Lǐn needs to be cared for before anything else. He takes two steps forward, and before he can do anything else, Xiào is gone anyway, fading back into the trees, leaving Shāng alone with the Enigmatic Gale.

Helplessly, he bends over the other man. “Uh, Sir Lǐn?” He tries, awkwardly, unsure of what he can possibly do. Lǐn’s hands find Shāng’s clothing and he grasps the rough tunic as if it’s a lifeline, pressing his face into Shāng’s chest and trembling. “Please,” he murmurs. Somehow, Shāng finds his arms awkwardly around Lǐn’s shoulder.

“What do you need?” he asks, although there is a little caution sign blinking at the back of his mind. But Lǐn looks truly pitiful, blinking up from beneath his long, dark lashes.

“You,” he murmurs after a good half-second of frozen trembling.

“Uh,” says Shāng. “What.”

“Never mind, I should never have suggested such a thing.” The tears tremble on his lashes. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“Look, Lǐn—”

“I am worthless and unclean.” Lǐn’s hands twisting in distress in his ruined robes, make the words that would normally sound facetious dangerously close to a straightforward assessment.

“Stop that,” Shāng tells him uncomfortably.

“It’s no more than the truth,” Lǐn says, with a kind of calm despair that makes Shāng want to shake him and stab Kuang Juan.

“Please,” Shāng says helplessly, and when Lǐn blinks his eyes and opens his mouth to say something else painful, he stops him the only way he can, by roughly pressing their mouths together. Lǐn stiffens beneath him and then presses himself closer, twining his arms around Shāng’s neck. He’s pliant and warm beneath Shāng’s arms.

“Hey,” Shāng says, softly, pulling back from the kiss. “I don’t want to hurt you, and right now—are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Please,” Lǐn murmurs into Shāng’s throat, leading a rather confused Edgeless Blade to realize his dick is starting to take notice of Lǐn’s proximity. “Show me that I’m still precious to you.”

Shāng brushes a hand down Lǐn’s face, wincing in sympathetic pain at the pattern of bruising on his delicate skin. “Look, man, I’m, uh, I might hurt you.”

Lǐn turns his face into Shāng’s hand and kisses the palm lightly. “I trust you,” he says.

“Ah, shit,” Shāng groans, struck by an extremely unusual sense of protectiveness for his irksome comrade. “All right. But I’m at least getting you back to the tent first, okay?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Lǐn says, and the easy way he gives up any control makes Shāng’s heart ache in his chest.

“Come on,” he says gruffly, getting a shoulder underneath Lǐn’s. “Come on, you’re going to be fine.”

It takes longer than it should normally to return to camp; fortunately Lang has yet to return, and Shāng is able to get the drooping and injured Enigmatic Gale into his tent. “Here we are,” he says. “You should maybe get some sleep.”

Lǐn shakes his head, clutching at Shāng’s hand a little desperately. “Please,” he says hoarsely. “I want you.”

“Geez, man.” Shāng rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean—I like you—but are you sure this is really the time?”

“What better time?” Lǐn asks, and his lashes have dropped halfway down across his eyes in a reassuringly familiar way that makes Shāng suddenly reassess the past half hour. And yet, there’s still a concerning tremor in his voice as he speaks. “Reassert your ownership over the thing the Hunting Fox tried to take from you.”

“Uh.” Shāng feels the heat spreading to his ears. “What do you—wait, did he think—”

“He did not say so in so many words,” Lǐn says thoughtfully. “But I am fairly certain he believes us to be lovers, and he thinks that by—” An unconscious shudder, and he draws his clothing closer about him. “—by harming me, he hurts you as well. Of course, I suppose it’s amusing enough that he was wrong—” The juxtaposition between Lǐn’s speech, which is slipping back towards its characteristic cadence, and the vulnerability in his body language makes Shāng go to his knees next to him.

“You’re fucking annoying,” he says bluntly. “But it’s not like I don’t care about you. And I guess—if this’ll make you feel better now—yeah. Okay.”

Lǐn tips his head to the side and smiles, a little wanly. “You are too good a man for me, Shāng Bù Huàn.”

“Yeah, for sure,” grunts Shāng. “Well, whatever.” He positions himself awkwardly between Lǐn’s legs and kisses him again, stroking a gentle hand through the long, silky hair. Lǐn makes a surprised, soft noise, and then starts to purr, nuzzling against Shāng’s neck. His thin, clever fingers are already undoing Shāng’s garments, sliding over Shāng’s sides and legs and then down. Shāng finds himself simply letting those hands roam across him, muttering a muffled word when they reach his cock and pause. Shāng freezes as well.

“Look,” he says awkwardly, although it’s hard to think through the haze of lust.

“My, my,” chuckles Lǐn. “This certainly is quite the instrument.”

“If you’re going to make fun of me,” Shāng grunts in irritation, though he’s still trying to aware of the necessity to be gentle, the care he has to show this man who’s just been so badly hurt. Lǐn blinks at him with wide, surprised eyes.

“Hardly,” he says, and the flush on his cheekbones, the fact Shāng can feel the Enigmatic Gale’s own member pressing into his thigh, suggest that he is not lying. “It’s quite breathtaking.”

“You, um, you like it?” Shāng scratches at his forehead. “Huh. It’s kinda big.”

“ _Yes_ ,” agrees Lǐn, wriggling against him in a way that is entirely too tantalizing. “We will have to be quite careful to avoid splitting me in half.”

“Are you _smiling_?” Shāng sputters, running a calloused thumb across Lǐn’s face.

Lǐn hums happily, turns his head and sucks Shāng’s thumb into his mouth, lathing his tongue around it both enthusiastically and skillfully. “The thought is quite delightful,” he agrees. “Although I am exaggerating slightly.” He kisses the palm of Shāng’s hand again, sliding his hand up and down along Shāng’s cock at a pace just rapid enough to send stars bursting in front of his eyes.

“Fuck,” he manages, and somehow his hands are on Lǐn’s shoulders, drawing him closer, and they’re kissing. It’s hard for Shāng to process all the different sensations that are happening to him at once, and a small part of him is forced to wonder if there’s any way Lǐn could have planned this. He feels guilty almost immediately, but it’s difficult to hold onto that feeling either when there’s a hand on his cock, stroking up and down, and he has a lapful of Enigmatic Gale. Somehow his hands are on bare skin, stroking up Lǐn’s sides. Somehow, Lǐn is kneeling over him, and he’s shedding clothing quite rapidly, letting his ruined robes fall behind him.

“Fuck,” Shāng manages, as Lǐn flips his hair behind his head. His body beneath his clothing is slim and lithe, but Shāng is abruptly jarred out of his trance as his eyes catch the dark bruises marking his hips, and he hisses in anger, reaching out, cupping Lǐn’s thighs as gently as he can manage. “I’ll kill him,” he says, and catches a flash of something startled and bright in Lǐn’s eyes.

Lǐn bends down to kiss him, so hard it leaves them both breathless. “You certainly are something quite rare and special, Sir Shāng,” he murmurs. His hand guides Shāng’s cock carefully up to his entrance.

“Are you su—”

“Be quiet, you oaf,” Lǐn tells him, still soft, still oddly gentle. He sinks downwards, and Shāng freezes, unable to take his eyes away from the way the Enigmatic Gale’s head tips back, mouth opening and eyes sliding shut as he slowly but surely takes all of Shāng’s length.

“Shit,” Shāng groans.

Lǐn is panting, his hands on Shāng’s shoulders tightening, fingers digging in. “As I said, a very—very fine instrument.” Shāng is trembling with the effort of not thrusting; he carefully runs his hands across Lǐn’s back, trying to distract himself from the tight, slick heat all around him. Silky white hair surrounds him, and he looks up to see that odd, fond half-grin on Lǐn’s face. “Please,” Lǐn continues, grinding their hips together and drawing a whine from Shāng’s lips. “Don’t go slowly on my account.”

There’s some reason, Shāng thinks, that this isn’t quite right, but it turns out to be quite difficult to think with Lǐn riding his dick like this. Experimentally, he rocks his hips, and Lǐn whines, sounding breathless. There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and Shāng, concerned, reaches up to cup his face. Lǐn takes the hand and presses against his face; the tears continue, but he’s grinning widely as he licks a stripe along Shāng’s palm.

Someone is moaning, guttural and deep; Shāng isn’t sure if it’s him. He’s only blurrily aware of anything that isn’t the slick heat of Lǐn around him or the lithe weight of Lǐn atop his hips, the hot wet feel of Lǐn’s mouth sucking on his fingers—and when did he start doing that? not that Shāng’s complaining.

They’re moving faster now. Shāng has no idea what noises he’s making, but he can hear Lǐn’s voice as a high-pitched string of gasps and vocalizations muffled but not silenced by Shāng’s fingers. At first, they’re nothing but meaningless cries; at some point his overtaxed brain decides there are words hidden in there, a secret he can’t tease apart because he’s too busy _falling_ apart. He’s long since abandoned gentleness in his thrusts, but Lǐn doesn’t seem to care; if anything, the noises have gotten louder, the grin wider.

“Ah, shit, _L_ _ǐ_ _n_ , Lǐn, you—I’m gonna—” He’s not sure how he gets the words out, and he can’t stop his half of the motion.

It’s somehow not very surprising to him when Lǐn tosses a hand, although the motion lacks a little of its usual flare, and manages, “Please, Sir Shāng, feel free,” before bearing back down. Shāng comes inside him, cursing and gasping, his entire body tingling and warm.

When he’s back in a state of mind that isn’t restricted to melty fizzing pleasure, he realizes he has what appears to be a Lǐn blanket draped over him. They’re both sweating, practically stuck together, Lǐn’s hair covering them both, and Lǐn himself tracing a lazy finger in vague spirals across his chest.

“Agh,” Shāng groans, leaning up on his elbow. “Did you…”

“Oh, yes,” Lǐn tells him, with a blissful smile. “Quite early on. Possibly twice.”

“But I didn’t even touch your—”

“Mmmm,” Lǐn agrees, and he ducks down to kiss Shāng on the mouth. “I told you that it was breathtaking. I’m still attempting to recover mine.” Despite this statement, it’s Shāng who’s still breathing hard; Lǐn appears perfectly composed.

“You’re impossible,” Shāng mutters, but he puts an arm around Lǐn and holds him close, and, after the first surprised breath, Lǐn doesn’t move away.

~

Shāng wakes up to the sound of swords being drawn, and he’s out with his own sword up before he’s even really opened his eyes. As they open, he catches sight of a long tendril of blue hair and just has time to really _realize_ the murderous rage when a flash of bright pink sears across his vision and leaves him in a fog.

It’s strange, he thinks vaguely. There should be sound, and there’s none, just a silent, tugging sensation in the center of his chest. That’s—not right. That’s—but his thoughts keep slipping away and back to the bright sparking _tug_. He needs to follow it. Needs to touch it, to possess it. There’s something wrong about that, certainly, but when he tries to find the end of the thought to follow it through to a logical conclusion, it slips away from him again, and he’s being pulled no matter what he does. His thoughts revolve in a frustrating, inescapable circle.

And then there’s a flicker, and Shāng is rubbing his eyes. Xiào Kuáng Juàn is standing across from him; in his hands is a sword that sends a sudden chill through Shāng. The recent hamster wheel of his thoughts abruptly makes sense—the only thing that _doesn’t_ is how he’s back to himself, clutching hurriedly at his sturdy wooden sword and bringing it up just in time to deflect Seven Blasphemous Deaths with a sound of metal clashing on _qi_.

Xiào seems to thinks so as well. His eyes widen behind his glasses, and he opens his mouth in a startled gasp. Without her intoxicating spell, Seven Blasphemous Deaths is just a sword, after all, and Shāng knows how to fight against a sword significantly better than Xiào knows how to wield one.

“How?” gasps Xiào. “How did you—”

“Ho-ho,” proclaims a familiar voice, and Shāng swings around to see that the Enigmatic Gale is swaggering towards both of them, looking significantly less distraught than might have been expected from the previous day’s events. In one hand is his ubiquitous pipe, held carelessly. Although his clothing is still somewhat rumpled and torn, it’s difficult to believe this is the broken, vacant man from yesterday. Shāng sighs. “I got to thinking,” the Enigmatic Gale says pleasantly. “As you happened to mention that you were able to shake off the sword’s influence due to the help of my illusions, I decided to see what would happen if I employed the same tactics to aid Shāng Bù Huàn."

“You!” The Hunting Fox’s eyes widen. “I _destroyed_ you!” he hisses. “I made you beg for it like a little whore—“

“Ah,” smiles Lǐn, sending a lazy puff of smoke in his enemy’s direction. “What a good thing I am a little whore then.”

Shāng sighs again, louder this time. “Sir Lǐn,” he says.

“Yes?” Lǐn smiles at him, tipping his head to one side. It’s infuriating how attractive it still is. And yet—well.

“I raped you!” snarls Hunting Fox. “I—”

“Ah—well. You tried. It was quite an entertaining try. I had an excellent experience, although Sir Shāng is rather more skilled with his—”

“OKAY,” Shāng says loudly. “Yeah, we’re done here.”

“Oh, but, Sir Shāng—”

Shāng whirls and fixes him with a glare, and Lǐn subsides, though he hasn’t stopped smirking.

“Xiào, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll hand over the sword and get the fuck out of here, and _you_ —”

Lǐn rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, smiling blissfully. “Are you considering punishing me, Sir Shāng?”

“No,” Shāng says shortly. Lǐn gives him a moue of sadness.

“Surely, you are at least a _little_ upset with me?”

“Yeah,” Shāng agrees as he slashes at Xiào, who appears to be incoherent with rage. “You think I’d punish you when I was _upset_ with you? Give me some credit, man.”

The Hunting Fox chooses this moment to withdraw, demonstrating more intelligence and awareness than Shāng was expecting. He could go after him, he supposes, but he’s still logy from the rough awakening followed by the immediate mental assault, and he sighs, sheathes his sword with a thunk, and leans against it. “What a way to wake up,” he mutters.

“Are you feeling poorly, Sir Shāng?”

Shāng rounds on him. “What the fuck, man? You let me think—”

Lǐn puffs out a cloud of fine white vapor. “That Xiào Kuáng Juàn had pinned me down and violently forced me to comply? He did.”

“Riiiight.” Shāng narrows his eyes at Lǐn.

“Ah, well, admittedly, I expect I could have stopped him had I chosen to do so,” smiles Lǐn. “Yesterday was quite enjoyable, all things considered.”

“I really oughta kill you,” says Shāng. “Stop other people from having to put up with this crap.”

The Enigmatic Gale leans toward him, and Shāng can’t quite disguise the hitch in his breath at the proximity, can’t blank from his mind the image of the vulnerability in Lǐn’s gaze the night before, as his hair swirled about him like the smoke does now. “Perhaps,” Lǐn agrees, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “But you’re far too lazy for that.”

Shāng growls wearily, and then, because he can’t stop feeling relief over the fact that Lǐn is all right, even if he continues to be a terrible person, he takes a handful of long, white hair, yanks the Enigmatic Gale forward, and kisses him hard on the lips.

Lǐn makes a small, almost surprised noise, and Shāng puts a hand on his waist, holding him firmly in place, bending him partway backwards, as he roughly inserts a tongue into his mouth. Their tongues tangle together after a moment, warm, firm, and wet, though Shāng doesn’t retain the position, instead probing the entire inside of Lǐn’s mouth, sweeping across the inside of his lip in front of his teeth. He tightens the hand on Lǐn’s back, and he doesn’t pull back until they’re both gasping for breath and staring at one another.

“I see,” Lǐn says slowly, touching two fingers to his lips. “You continue to surprise me, Sir Shāng. Pleasantly, even.”

Shāng rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says after a minute. “And next time you want to fuck me, don’t fucking—fuck—the Hunting Fox first, or I will kick your ass.” Lǐn hums in a way that Shāng does not find particularly convincing, but any form of assent will do for the moment. “Let’s go back to bed,” he grumbles.

“Ohhhh?”

“And _sleep_.”

“Ah. Well, if you insist.”

Shāng takes Lǐn’s arm and steers him back towards the tent. More sleep will sort out his head or something. At least the two of them can hold one another, and Shāng can just hold Lǐn for a little while and not think about anything else.


End file.
